Cloud Walker, All Fools' Day, Far Sunset (19 page)

The pitch was hot and pungent. All those who came close to the iron pots in which it simmered coughed with the fumes and dabbed at their streaming eyes.

Kentigern, himself coughing and cursing somewhat, came to look at the fabric of the great balloon, spread out on the grass while the pitch that sealed the joinings of fabric and paper lining cooled in the morning air.

‘It is finished, Kieron?’

‘It is finished.’

‘And it will fly?’

‘If some fool does not tear the skin or set fire to it when we are heating the air, it will fly.’

‘You have worked hard.’

Kieron shrugged. ‘Many have worked hard.’

‘You more than most. When did you last sleep?’

Kieron scratched his head and looked puzzled. ‘I forget. Does it matter? Yesterday, perhaps, or the day before.’

Kentigern put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I confess, I did not believe you would achieve this much. Rest, now, boy. You are tired.’

Kieron looked at him strangely. ‘Boy no more, Kentigern. Have I not done a man’s work, here and elsewhere?’

‘Ay, that you have. You are indeed a man, and I offered no offence.’

Petrina had heard the exchange. ‘Make him rest, Kentigern. Command him to stop work. He kills himself.’

Kentigern smiled. ‘Petrina, I command your man only to destroy freebooters. In all else, he commands himself.’

Tears were running down Petrina’s face. Kentigern supposed it was the smell of the pitch. But it was not the smell of the pitch. She wept when she
looked at Kieron’s white hair, at his dark eyes and hollow cheeks. She wept when she saw the sword that rarely left his hand. She wept when she saw the feverish brightness come upon him, a brightness and an energy not generated by good food and sound sleep. A daemonic power that compelled him to drive himself and others.

Suddenly, Kieron looked at her. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her. It was the first time he seemed to have seen her, or even been aware of her, in days.

‘Fret not, my love. Presently, all shall be as you wish … Do you remember when we were children? We came here to the Misery one hot afternoon in late summer, and we lay under the great beech tree, and I told you I wanted to fly.’

The anxiety on Petrina’s face softened. ‘I remember. Plums and apples. I ate too many and had much pain.’

Kieron laughed. ‘Plums and apples and the bright world of childhood.’

Kentigern coughed noisily. ‘I am an intruder. I will go. When will you test the balloon, Kieron?’

Kieron did not look at him. ‘This afternoon, when I have eaten and held converse with my wife. This afternoon, Kentigern, you shall see history made.’

Kentigern retired, coughing and muttering to himself.

‘Plums and apples,’ said Kieron. ‘We both ate too many … Do you remember what else we talked about?’

Petrina smiled. ‘I told you that my mother had consulted the astrologer Marcus. He said that you would be a grand master of your art and that I should bear three children.’ She sighed. ‘So much for the hopes and visions of childhood. We live now in a world where these things cannot come to pass.’

‘Do we?’ asked Kieron excitedly. ‘Do we indeed? What else did Marcus say? Can you remember?’

Petrina’s forehead crinkled. ‘He said … He said that your greatest painting would be of a terrible fish that destroys folk by burning them. I can recollect no more.’

‘Then let us redeem the astrologer’s reputation,’ said Kieron. He turned from her and snatched a large brush that had been used for daubing hot pitch upon the seams of the balloon. He dipped it into one of the iron pots and then approached the laid out fabric.

Skilfully and quickly, he painted a great staring eye at the head of the balloon. Then he dipped the brush again and painted below the eye a huge cavernous mouth, with rows of sharp teeth. His strokes were swift and sure. At the far end of the balloon, he painted a great black tail.

‘Here is my greatest painting Petrina. The shark that swims through the air and devours men … Now let us go and eat, then let us lie together. For this afternoon the great fish of death takes to the sky.’

Kieron saw to the braziers, made sure that the charcoal was glowing but not spitting out sparks or flames. Then he made sure that the men and women who were to hold the balloon while it filled with hot air knew exactly what to do. Then he tested the net that harnessed the balloon to the boat it would raise. Finally, he gave the signal for the orifices in its underbelly to be held over the braziers so that hot air would enter inside the fabric.

The flat envelope began to swell. Presently, it lifted from the grass. Presently it hung suspended over the boat, with the braziers forcing in more and yet more hot air.

Kieron and Aylwin climbed into the boat.

‘Well, Aylwin?’

‘Well, Kieron?’

‘Shortly we shall be airborne. If you have no stomach for the venture, now is the time to speak.’

‘I have already spoken. So have you.’

‘Enough, then. Let us see how the fish of death takes to the sky.’ He signalled to the men holding ropes attached to the bow and the stern of the small boat.

They paid out. Slowly the balloon began to rise.

‘More heat to number one brazier,’ called Kieron. ‘We are not on an even keel.’

Aylwin took the bellows and, resting them on the arm that lacked a hand, pumped away at number one. The charcoals glowed brightly and the heat balance was maintained.

The small boat, in which Kieron crouched at one end and Aylwin at the other with the metal tray supporting the four braziers swaying a little between them, had risen above the heads of the people below. Kieron signalled for more rope to be paid out, then used hand bellows to make the charcoal glow more brightly in the two braziers he tended. Aylwin also used his bellows. Kieron felt the extra lift.

‘Airborne!’ he exclaimed triumphantly. ‘Airborne at last!’ It was as if the clumsy balloon swelled with life, straining impatiently at the ropes that held the small boat, at stem and stern, suspended from it.

There was a great cheer from below. Aylwin looked over the side and stared down at the group of upturned faces. Kieron signalled for more rope
to be paid out. Slowly, majestically the balloon rose above the tree-tops of the Misery. It was as if, now that it was truly in the element for which it was designed, the balloon had mysteriously gained physical grace.

Kieron signalled for yet more rope to be loosed. The balloon was now more than fifty metres above the Misery, swaying and riding upon air currents like a boat on a mild sea swell.

Aylwin, white-faced, looked anxiously at Kieron. ‘Are we not high enough, Kieron? Truly it is awesome.’

The wind seemed to swallow his words. Ropes and timbers creaked, the charcoal in the braziers glowed golden.

‘Look south,’ called Kieron. ‘Look south. There lies the enemy.’

The air was clear, and the Misery was no more than nine or ten kilometres from the sea. Aylwin followed Kieron’s gaze. He could see the ocean. He could see the far horizon. He could see sunlight upon water. And, at Little Hampton, he could see the masts of ships, huddled together like toy boats on a great pond. He laughed nervously. ‘They do not look so fearsome from this distance, Kieron.’

‘Nor will they seem fearsome when we pass over them and drop fire bombs upon their decks. We shall cause such destruction, Aylwin, that men will speak of it in wonder in the years to come.’

Aylwin shuddered. ‘How can you be so sure? How can you be so sure that we shall succeed, that we shall aim well, that the fires will not be put out, that the balloon will not be destroyed, that we shall even pass close enough to the ships?’

Kieron gave a terrible smile. ‘Of late, I have given much thought to the problem of how to inflict death and destruction. It is a new trade I have learned, and one for which, as you know, I have some talent. The secret of this trade of dealing in death is to pay great attention to detail. While I have been building this shark of the sky, this formidable monster filled only with hot air, I have also given thought to our means of delivering fire. Rest easy, Aylwin. If we die – and we may – we shall give an excellent accounting.’

He was aware of voices, shouts from below. He looked down at the people in the Misery and saw that two of the men who held the ropes attached to the small boat had been pulled clear of the ground. They hung on to their ropes perilously, shouting, imploring.

Again Kieron smiled. ‘We have excellent lift, I see. More than I had hoped for. Therefore we shall carry more weight than I had hoped. But now let us return to earth. Quench number one brazier, Aylwin, and I will quench number four. Thus shall we return gently to our friends.’

Aylwin and Kieron took small flasks of water and poured them very slowly over the glowing charcoals. There was much sizzling, and hot steam rose, giving the balloon more temporary lift. The men hanging on the ropes cried out with alarm.

But as the heat faded, the shark of the sky began to lose height. Smoothly and slowly it sank down to earth. Kieron gave a great sigh of regret as he found himself below the tree-tops of the Misery once more. Presently, there was a slight jolt as the boat grounded.

Kentigern was the first to greet him. ‘Well, Kieron, are you satisfied?’

‘I am satisfied.’

‘And you still believe that you can carry fire to the freebooters’ ships?’

‘I know that I can. More even than I had calculated.’

Kentigern gave a sigh of relief. ‘Well, then, we shall not be damned in vain. While you have been labouring upon the construction of this monstrous thing, others have been engaged in more civilised pursuits. Beer has been brewed. Come, let us drink to the success of the venture.’

‘You drink,’ said Kieron. ‘I have work to do.’

‘What work? The balloon is finished.’

‘I wish to experiment with the best means of delivering fire. When you have drunk your toasts, Kentigern, send men to seek barrels of whale oil, flasks, goat-skin bottles, bales of straw, lard, pitch – anything that will burn fiercely.’

‘You are a dedicated man, Kieron.’

Kieron laughed dreadfully. ‘Yes. I am dedicated to destruction.’

Two days later, the wind blew gently but steadily from the north. The sky was clear, blue as a heron’s egg, and the downs were bathed in a quiet autumnal beauty.

A strange caravan left the Misery. Preceded by a column of foot soldiers headed by Liam, Kentigern and Isidor rode side by side on horseback, the two horses harnessed together by a reversed yoke passing under their bellies. In the centre of the yoke was a stout iron ring. Through it passed a rope. The rope rose tautly upwards to be hooked on the stem and stern of the boat that hung from Kieron’s hot-air balloon ten metres above.

Kieron had painted a name on the slender craft. The name was:
Mistress Fitzalan’s Revenge.
Petrina wept when she saw it. But she took care not to let Kieron see her weeping.

They had made their goodbyes but an hour before – while Aylwin was confessing his sins to Brother Hildebrand, who, though he had faithfully recorded all heretical acts, saw no reason why he should not give absolution to a mutilated boy who was going to almost certain death.

‘I will love you always,’ Petrina had said, dry-eyed at the last so that her man should not be weakened.

‘And I will love you always.’

‘More than you loved Alyx Fitzalan?’ As soon as the words were out, Petrina could have cut off her tongue. This was no time for barbs. Kieron was about to put himself in peril of his life.

He was not angry. He held her close; and, in the sight of many men and women, placed his hand upon her breast.

‘More fully than I ever loved Alyx.’ He smiled, glancing at the balloon that was already filled with hot air and swayed as if impatient at its mooring. ‘I have already accommodated the astrologer Marcus by painting a fish that will destroy men by fire. There will be time, will there not, for you to do your part and bear three children?’

She kissed him. ‘Please Ludd, there will be time. Come back, Kieron. That is all.’

Then he and Aylwin had seated themselves in
Mistress Fitzalan’s Revenge
and had checked all the strange equipment that littered the craft and even hung suspended from hooks over its side. After satisfying himself that supplies of charcoal, flasks of water, goatskins of whale oil, ropes and grapnels
and the small tightly packed bales of straw that had soaked overnight in oil were all in position, Kieron applied more fuel to the braziers and used the bellows.
Mistress Fitzalan’s Revenge
lifted slowly from her mooring, and was manhandled into position above the two restive horses. The rope was passed through the ring on the yoke and made fast; and the fantastic caravan moved off, the horses snorting and whinnying nervously as they sustained a load, an upward pull, that was against nature.

Kieron’s plan was that Kentigern and Isidor should draw the hot-air balloon as near as possible to the windward side of the vessels at Little Hampton. When he judged that he was in position where the offshore wind would carry him over the freebooters’ ships, he would release the rope that held
Mistress Fitzalan’s Revenge
to the yoke between the horses. After that, all depended upon luck, skill, destiny. Kentigern, Isidor and the foot soldiers would stay to observe, if they were not attacked. If they were to be attacked, they would endeavour to retreat to Arundel and observe matters with a spy-glass.

The strange cavalcade passed through the town of Arundel without hindrance, disturbing only the rats and sea birds attending to the rotting corpses of freebooters who had perished in the path of the fire-carts.

As Mistress Fitzalan’s Revenge passed the castle, Kieron and Aylwin found that they were high enough to look over the walls. The funeral pyre was now no more than a great heap of ash, disturbed occasionally by gusts of wind.

‘Rest easy, my love,’ said Kieron softly. ‘This day there will be a reckoning.’

Unmolested, the column marched down the hill, across the bridge over the river Arun and took the road to the sea.